


50s Family Christmas Stories 2020

by ChocolatteKitty_Kat



Series: New Music: the 50s AU [4]
Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Catholic Character, Catholic Character of Color, Catholicism, Celebrations, Christian Holidays, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Cooking, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Family Meals, Fluff, Fluff without Plot, Food, Gen, Holidays, Sibling bickering, Siblings, holiday celebrations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocolatteKitty_Kat/pseuds/ChocolatteKitty_Kat
Summary: Five stories, each centering on an individual character and their family Christmas Eve celebrations, based around the cultures each character belongs to in this AU. Romeo as Puerto Rican and Roman Catholic, Elmer as Polish and Byzantine Catholic, JoJo as Italian-American and Roman Catholic, Mush as PA Dutch, and Spot as Irish and Roman Catholic. There’s a lot of Catholicism, which I admittedly know next to nothing about. Lots of family-based fluff and sibling bickering. Find family trees for the AU on my tumblr, starship-squidlet (in the New Music preface/masterlist). Also guest-starring Finch, even though he and his family don’t have a chapter.
Series: New Music: the 50s AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128572
Kudos: 2





	1. Feliz Navidad

**“Feliz Navidad**

**Feliz Navidad**

**Feliz Navidad**

**Próspero año y felicidad!”**

Romeo heard the doorbell ring from his room and groaned inwardly.  _ It’s too early for this _ . He’d known ahead of time that his siblings and their families would be arriving around eight in the morning, but had been up late between the winter dance and clearing out the band’s equipment, and was now reluctant to get up. He heard the patter of tiny footsteps in the hallway and tensed up reflexively, knowing what was coming.

The door flew open and a shrieking child flung itself at Romeo, still burrowed under the blankets. He laughed and squirmed around to wrap his niece in a big hug. “Buenos dias, princesa,” he teased, kissing the top of her head before ruffling her hair.

“Tio, tio, it’s  _ Christmas _ !” she squealed, worming her way out of his arms.

“Josie, come out and let tío get dressed,” his sister said from the doorway. The toddler clambered off of the bed and scampered over to her mother, bouncing excitedly. “Romeo, hurry up; Mama and Papa said to.”

“Okay, okay,” Romeo grumbled, flinging his blankets aside and crawling out of the warm cave of his bed. “Is Xav here yet?”

“He will be any minute, I’m sure,” Ivy said as she shut the door behind her.

Romeo got dressed quickly and hurried to join the rest of his family in the main part of the apartment. Just as he was leaving his room, the doorbell rang again. His older brother came through it into their mother’s waiting arms just as Romeo rounded the corner.

“Xavier! Welcome home, welcome home!” Angelica cried, hugging her middle child tightly. “It’s been so long since you came to visit!”

“We’ve been a little busy, Ma,” Xavier laughed, stepping aside so that his wife Paula, carrying a small bundle and beaming brightly, could come into the apartment.

Angelica squealed and hugged Paula quickly, then held out her arms. Paula laughed and placed the bundle in them, the baby inside the bundle protesting slightly at being taken away from its mother. “Oh, Xavier, Paula, she’s beautiful,” Angelica cooed, tickling the baby’s cheek with her finger.

“What’s her name?” Romeo asked, peering over his mother’s shoulder.

“Nathalia,” said Paula, as Xavier wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Since she was born so close to Christmas.”

“How old is she?” asked Ivy, leaning out of the kitchen, her own baby, eleven-month-old Luis, in her arms.

“Twelve days,” said Xavier. “Hi, Ivy.”

“Hey, Xav.”

“Tio Zavie! Tio Zavie!” Josie streaked across the living room, having escaped from her father’s arms, to hug Xavier around the knees. He laughed and picked her up to kiss her on the cheek.

“Hi, Josie! Do you want to see the baby?”

Josie nodded, grinning broadly, her dark curls bouncing. Xavier stepped closer to Angelica and leaned Josie down to look at the baby. Josie wrinkled up her nose and frowned. “It’s all pink and wrinkly.”

“That’s because she’s just a baby!” Xavier laughed. “She’s only a few days old. When you were a few days old, you looked like that, too. Don’t you remember last year when your brother was born? He looked the same, too!”

Josie shook her head. “Luis is still wrinkly.”

The adults laughed as Xavier set her down so she could race back across the apartment to her father and grandfather. Paula accepted the baby from Angelica, who shooed her and Xavier into the living room to sit with the others. “Romeo can give me a hand in the kitchen for now, and then Xavier and Eddie can help later to give him and Ivy a break.”

**“I wanna wish you a merry Christmas**

**I wanna wish you a merry Christmas**

**I wanna wish you a merry Christmas**

**From the bottom of my heart!”**

Hours later, Romeo was exhausted. He and Ivy had switched out from helping their mother in the kitchen twice now, and Xavier and Eddie had just taken their place for the second time. How his mother was still on her feet Romeo couldn’t fathom. Josie was playing around her grandfather’s feet, Romeo’s father half asleep with both babies on his lap.

“Papa, I can take Luis for a while,” Ivy laughed, stepping over her daughter to reclaim her son.

“Hm? Oh, that’s alright. I don’t mind holding him.”

“Have you been working a lot lately?” Ivy asked, settling down on the couch next to Paula, who  _ was  _ asleep.

“A fair amount,” Sebastian yawned, straightening up and resettling Nathalia on his shoulder. “It’s always busy around the holidays.”

Ivy nodded. “Eddie’s been busy lately, too. Extra hours; sometimes he even works a few hours on Saturdays. We’ve appreciated the overtime pay, but I still miss seeing him so much.”

Sebastian yawned again and nodded sleepily. Ivy smiled and turned her attention to Romeo. “So, did you ever check out that place I told you about for skating?”

“Yeah, a couple friends and I went a few weeks ago,” said Romeo.

“Did you meet anyone?” Ivy teased, winking and nudging him with her foot.

“No—well, I  _ met _ some people, but not like that,” Romeo laughed. “My friend Henry wound up with a date to the winter dance yesterday, though.”

“That’s good!” said Ivy. “Was he the only one?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think Boots and Elmer even  _ tried _ to find dates,” Romeo admitted. “I mean, Henry didn’t really try either, he just kind of met her on accident, but still. She’s pretty nice. I kinda hope they keep goin’ out. She’s fun to have around.”

**“Feliz Navidad**

**Feliz Navidad**

**Feliz Navidad**

**Próspero año y felicidad!”**

They chatted for a while longer before Angelica, Eddie, and Xavier all joined them from the kitchen, the majority of the work finally done. Despite snacking while they cooked all day, everyone was hungry and ready for dinner. The living room had been decorated heavily over the past few weeks with a wide assortment of ornaments. An ornate, handmade nativity—made by Sebastian himself and with a new piece added to it every year—was set up on the windowsill. A Christmas tree covered in tinsel, satin thread-wrapped styrofoam ornaments, and twinkling lights stood in the corner, presents for the whole family tucked away under it. The walls were decorated with paper palm fronds, a bit worse for wear after being used so many years (they had been made when Romeo was still a child).

The whole apartment smelled wonderful. The pork roasting in the oven was fragrant, an undercurrent to everything else that had been cooked or was currently cooking: plantains, pasteles, and some of the components of arroz con gandules, which would be fully assembled and cooked once the pork was almost done and they could harvest some of it to add to the rice. Ivelisse and Eduardo had brought tembleque to share, and Xavier and Paula had brought arroz con dulce—Romeo’s favorite. While the rest of them were sitting, Sebastian finally relinquished Nathalia to her mother and got up to prepare coquito. Romeo was excited for the coquito, since it was the first year he’d be allowed to drink some of it in its full form—his father had declared that, since the grandchildren were too small for it anyways, he didn’t intend to make two batches, and instead would allow Romeo to have a  _ small _ amount of the rum drink.

When Sebastian returned, he came bearing a tray of mugs, which he passed out to the other adults, saving Romeo’s for last. “Now, remember,” said Sebastian warily, “to drink this slowly. I didn’t make it as strong as I usually do, but you’re still young and not used to it, so take your time.”

Romeo nodded eagerly as he accepted the mug and took a huge gulp… Only to gag and choke as the rum burned his throat. He spluttered, nearly spitting the coquito out, but managed to get most of it down—except for a little bit that came up through his nose while he coughed. By the time he regained his composure, the rest of his family was either laughing openly or trying to hide their mirth.

“Why do people like that stuff so much?” Romeo asked between coughs.

Xavier laughed and reached over to tussle his younger brother’s hair, then thumped him on the back. “You get used to it,” he teased. He took a sip of his own coquito and came away coughing as well. “Mierda, Papa! I thought you said you  _ didn’t _ make it as strong as normal. That packs a punch!”

“Xavier, watch your language in front of the babies!” Angelica scolded.

Sebastian eyed his mug thoughtfully. “Well, it doesn’t taste that strong to me.”

**“I wanna wish you a merry Christmas**

**I wanna wish you a merry Christmas**

**I wanna wish you a merry Christmas**

**From the bottom of my heart!”**

After dinner, they spent some time cleaning up from the day’s cooking activities, packing leftovers up for Xavier and Ivelisse to take home, and washing dishes before everyone collapsed into the living room chairs and sofas to relax for a while, chatting happily. Romeo was allowed a second mug of coquito, which he drank slowly, still feeling a bit foggy from the earlier drink, and Ivelisse and Paula put the children down to sleep for a few hours in his room. If Josie hadn’t been sleeping in his bed, Romeo would have seriously considered crawling into it himself, and the alcohol wasn’t helping.

Around ten thirty, the doorbell rang, as they had been expecting, and everyone woke up almost instantly. They opened the door to the apartment, and a large group of people burst in, singing loudly. Laughing, the family joined in with the parrenderos, Sebastian passing around cups of the coquito to the adults in the group. A few people had extra straw pavas, which they passed around as they swept Romeo and his family up and out the door. Only Paula stayed behind with the babies, wanting to stay close to Nathalia, laughing as she collected the empty coquito glasses and watched them all swarm away.

Many of the families in their building were Puerto Rican as well, seeming to have unconsciously gravitated towards others from their own country upon settling in America, and knew to expect the mass of the Parrandas at some point late in the evening. The handful of people from other nationalities were largely accustomed to the carolers as well, although they were less likely to join in on the activity once it left their door. About an hour later, the parrenderos began to straggle off back to their own homes, to collect other family members and get ready for midnight mass.

Walking down the street to the church, more carols were sung by the people thronging together on the sidewalks. Pedestrians heading to other churches joined in on songs they knew, and the air was filled with voices singing in an assortment of languages: English, Spanish, Italian, and more that Romeo couldn’t identify in the mix. He thought he saw Elmer at one point, walking with his brothers and sister on the other side of the street, chattering happily with Annia as they headed for the Byzantine Catholic church a few blocks away.

Inside their own church, Romeo and his family took their seats together, settling into the pews for mass. The service was musical and cheerful, and there was an elaborate nativity play put on by several of the local children. Romeo remembered taking part in it several times when he was younger, but was now too old to join in.

Tonight, Romeo was finding it much harder to stay awake through mass than normal. It wasn’t entirely unheard of for him to nod off during the service, but tonight, between the alcohol, dim lighting, and muggy warmth of the packed church, he was really struggling. He found himself leaning more and more heavily against Xavier—not that his brother seemed to mind. In fact, at some point, Romeo found himself with his head resting on his brother’s shoulder, and Xavier’s head resting on top of his.

The walk back home was quieter, although there were still a lot of people singing and chattering in the streets. Romeo couldn’t seem to stop yawning, and trudged along behind his family. On the way back, he was sure that he saw Elmer, and called out his friend’s name, waving when the other boy turned to look at him.

“Wesołych Świąt, Romeo!” Elmer called, laughing and waving enthusiastically.

“Feliz Navidad!” Romeo called back as he and his family turned down their street.

Back in their building, Ivelisse and Eduardo said goodnight, and headed for their own apartment, Luis asleep in his mother’s arms, and Josie drooling on her father’s shoulder. Since Xavier, Paula, and Nathalia lived a few blocks away, they would spend the night with Romeo and his parents.

When they got upstairs, Romeo grabbed a pillow and blanket from his bed and settled himself on the couch, leaving his room to Xavier and his family. He could hear Nathalia fussing through the wall, but she settled down quickly. The living room was dark—they’d turned off the tree lights when they left for mass, and there was no reason to turn them back on to sleep—and was still filled with the scents of dinner. The paper fronds on the wall looked dark and eerie and vaguely like spider webs in the dim illumination from the streetlamps three stories below them, the light of which came through the window as a hazy glow. The moon was bright and mostly full, but was blocked occasionally by tufts of cottony clouds that floated across the sky. Romeo watched them from his place on the couch. Now that he was home and settled in to sleep, he was wide awake.

He listened to the sounds in the building around him. Nathalia’s occasional noises and Xavier and Paula talking and singing to her on the other side of the wall, his parents talking in their room down the hall; low voices and laughter from the apartments above, below, to either side, across the corridor. There was still singing outside—carolers from the sound of it—and the occasional burst of laughter or shouting. Romeo smiled to himself and snuggled further under his blanket.

**“Feliz Navidad**

**Feliz Navidad**

**Feliz Navidad**

**Próspero año y felicidad!”**


	2. Infant Holy, Infant Lowly

**“Infant holy, infant lowly,**

**for his bed a cattle stall;**

**oxen lowing, little knowing**

**Christ the babe is Lord of all.”**

Elmer hummed to himself as he and Walter set the table. First came a handful of straw—where it came from, no-one ever asked; their father generally just showed up with it at some point during the week before Christmas—sprinkled over the tabletop, then they spread a plain red cloth over it, carefully, so as not to knock the hay onto the floor. Then, over the red cloth, they spread another, this one an ornately crocheted piece of handmade lace, which the boys had to be careful not to snag and put pullers in. It was made to look like pineapples, radiating from an almost wheel-like center. The dishes were off white china rimmed with gold leaf, and dainty crystal goblets, also rimmed in gold. The napkins were red to match the under-cloth on the table, and decorated with appliques of more crocheted pineapple lace. The dishes had been wedding gifts from John Sr. and Anna’s parents back in Poland—more accurately, they had sent money when they heard the news of the wedding, and it had been spent mostly on the china and crystal—while the tablecloths and napkins had been handmade by Anna over a few years when the children were young.

They set their parents’ places at the heads of the table, then two spots for the children on each side. A third setting was placed on one side of the table: the setting for the “unexpected visitor”—or “Niespodziewany Gość” as Anna and John Sr. still called it—that could turn up at any time. It had been explained to the children when they were young that there was always a possibility of someone showing up uninvited to Christmas Eve dinner, or in need. And, of course, there was always a need to leave space for the baby Jesus, whose birthday it was.

In the kitchen, Anna and Annia were chatting and laughing. Christmas music was playing from the radio in the living room, where Johns Sr. and Jr. were finishing the tree decorating; even though John Sr. had bought them a fake tree that year, it had been decided that the majority of the decorating would be left for Christmas Eve, as was tradition. Now, Elmer could hear the soft clanking of the glass ornaments and the rustling of straw ones against the artificial tree needles as the baubles were hung from the branches. Since his parents were from opposite sides of Poland, many of the family’s traditions were combinations of traditions from both sides, often with some American flavor thrown in thanks to the US-born children.

Once the table was set, Elmer joined his mother and sister in the kitchen, while Walter headed for the living room. The whole kitchen smelled, primarily, of fish and mushrooms, which brought a smile to Elmer’s face. He loved mushrooms. One of his favorite parts about Christmas Eve dinner was getting to eat  _ so many _ mushrooms and mushroom dishes. His mother usually made two soups for dinner: a large batch of borscht (beet soup), as well as a small batch of mushroom soup just for Elmer, since no-one else liked it. There would also be mushroom pierogi, krokiety stuffed with mushrooms and fried, and the carp currently roasting in the oven would be stuffed with mushrooms, along with other things. There were also pickled herrings, challah bread, and a variety of other dishes—twelve in total, to represent the the twelve disciples of Christ—in addition to the desserts that had been baked beforehand: mazurek, strucla z migdalowa, piernik, and poppy seed cake. Kompot, which had been steeping in fruit for days now, was boiling on the stove to heat it up for dinner. Elmer set an armful of mugs on the counter to be filled with the hot drink before they started eating, then filled a pitcher with water to fill the glasses on the table.

He could feel his stomach growling; a low, rolling grumble that spoke to its emptiness. Christmas Eve—Wigilia, in Polish—was a day of fasting, which was probably his least favorite part of it. Now, as the day drew to a close, he felt almost like his stomach was beginning to collapse in on itself without anything to fill it. But it wasn’t time to eat yet: that would wait until the first star had appeared in the night sky. He wasn’t sure how his mother and sister managed it, being on their feet all day in the kitchen to cook. He and his father and brothers all helped, of course, but most of the work fell to Anna and Annia. Elmer was certain that if he tried to do that, he’d collapse from hunger. He’d said that to Annia once, and she just laughed and told him: “You get used to it.”

“Dzieci, the food is ready!” Anna called from the kitchen. “Come and take it to the table!”

Elmer, John Jr., and Walter were in the kitchen nearly instantly, practically tripping over one another in their haste. They accepted platters and bowls from their mother and sister and carried them out to the table. Annia followed after with handfuls of serving utensils, which she placed in the food once it was set safely on the table.

“Is the star out yet?” Anna asked, handing the final bowl to Elmer.

“I haven’t seen it,” he said.

She filled the mugs with kompot and handed them to the other boys to carry to the table while Elmer hurried to check the sky outside. “It’s dark, but I don’t see any stars!” he called, impatience audible in his voice.

John Jr. joined him and they stared out the  window , eyes wide and unblinking as they watched for the star to come out. The evening was fairly clear, only a few bits of cloud floating around in the sky, hurried on their way by a presumably cold wind.

“If the star takes too much longer to show up, we’ll just have to eat without it,” John Sr. grumbled.

“There it is!” John Jr. pointed.

“Good! Let’s eat!”

The family hurried to the table and took their seats. John Sr. said a blessing, then produced the opłatek and broke off a piece for himself. They passed the wafer around the table, each breaking off a piece to eat and saying a short blessing for the family. Once that was done, they dug into the food.

“Elmer, John, slow down!” Anna scolded. “It’s not a race! There’s plenty of food!”

“Make sure you eat a little of everything,” said John Sr.

“We know, ojciec,” the boys chorused.

After dinner, they all helped to clear the table, pack up leftovers, and wash some of the dishes. Then, they gathered in the living room. Anna sat down next to a large standing harp, which she played while the whole family sang carols together. Elmer tapped out a rhythm on any surface near him with a pair of drumsticks, mostly focusing on the legs of the furniture and top of the coffee table.

**“Infant holy, infant lowly,**

**for his bed a cattle stall;**

**oxen lowing, little knowing**

**Christ the babe is Lord of all.**

**Swift are winging angels singing,**

**nowells ringing, tidings bringing;**

**Christ the babe is Lord of all;**

**Christ the babe is Lord of all!”**

Once the carols were done, Anna joined John Sr. on the couch and the children settled down on the floor near the tree. The gifts were passed out, each handed off to the person whose name was written on the bottom, and they went around in a circle, everyone opening one gift at a time, until all of the wrapping was in a haphazard pile in the middle of them all, and each person had a little pile of gifts next to them. Most of the presents were primarily practical: new socks and underwear, a hairbrush for Annia, a new safety razor and pack of blades for Walter, hair gel and a good comb for John Jr., and a new pair of shoes for Elmer, who had outgrown his old pair in the fall and been wearing some of Walter’s ever since. There were more fun gifts, though, as well:  _ two _ whole sets of drumsticks for Elmer, a handful of decorative hairpins for Annia, books for Walter, and quite a bit of candy for John Jr., whose notorious sweet tooth was the butt of many a family joke.

They drifted apart a little once the gifts were opened, but didn’t leave the room. Anna returned to the harp and played some more. If it hadn’t been so late, Walter would have picked up his violin and joined her, but since many of the people around them were likely asleep, he settled for reading one of his books. Elmer resumed his drumming on the coffee table, humming along with his mother’s music.

It was late when they finally bundled up and headed out for the midnight service. While they walked, Elmer tried to keep an eye out for Romeo, since they often passed on their way to church on Sunday mornings—Romeo’s family heading for mass at the local Roman Catholic cathedral, Elmer’s for the neighborhood Byzantine Catholic church’s Divine Liturgy. However, the streets were too clogged with people, between carollers, people visiting friends and family, and other churchgoers. Elmer soon gave up and spent most of the walk chattering with Annia.

They reached the church just before midnight and were filing into their seats as the bells in the steeple began pealing joyfully to announce the birth of Christ. Those who had gathered early in the church to sing carols and wait for midnight sang out even more loudly, and the more recent arrivals joined them as well before falling silent for the Psalm-reading part of the service. After that, there was the “S Nami Boh”, and then more carol singing.

**“Flocks were sleeping, shepherds keeping**

**vigil till the morning new;**

**saw the glory, heard the story -**

**tidings of a gospel true.**

**Thus rejoicing, free from sorrow,**

**praises voicing, greet the morrow:**

**Christ the babe was born for you;**

**Christ the babe was born for you!”**

This was possibly Elmer’s favorite part of the entire day—more than the mushroom-packed dinner, more than the presents, more than the carols sung at home. He loved the infectiousness of the absolute  _ joy _ that filled the church, swelling in his heart to burst out through his mouth as he belted the carols with his siblings and everyone else around them. Everyone was beaming, singing at the top of their lungs, almost loud enough to drown out the bells that had begun pealing again in the steeple.

When they finally made their way out of the church, it was like the whole day began to crash down around Elmer’s shoulders, and he felt like he could fall asleep right then and there. Memories of dragging himself home from services as a child, whining the whole time and begging his parents to carry him even though their arms were always full of his younger siblings, popped into his head, and he had to smile to himself. Even the excitement of being allowed to be up and out so late could only do so much to keep a child awake.

A few blocks from the church, he finally spotted Romeo, on the other side of the street, trailing along behind his family and yawning hugely. Before Elmer could call out, Romeo spotted him and shouted his name, waving to catch his attention.

Elmer laughed. “Wesołych Świąt, Romeo!”

“Feliz Navidad, Elmer!” came the call back, and then they were both turning off onto other streets, and Romeo and his family were gone.

Back home, the children headed straight to bed in their room. Elmer climbed up into his bunk—he slept in the bunk over Walter, and John Jr. had the bunk over Annia on the other side of the room—once he was changed into his pajamas and had brushed his teeth. Walter and John Jr. were arguing about something; Elmer couldn’t be bothered to care what at this point in the evening, and instead burrowed under his blankets and put his pillow over his head to block them out. It didn’t work, but he soon found himself drifting off anyways, smiling to himself.

**“Christ the babe is Lord of all;**

**Christ the babe is Lord of all!”**


	3. Ave Maria

“Tommy, get back here!” JoJo yelped, darting after his youngest brother as he made for the open front door, giggling madly as he raced away. JoJo caught the toddler as he was about to step over the threshold and swept him up into his arms, catching the door with his foot and swinging it shut. “You don’t want to go out there,” he scolded. “It’s cold in the snow!”

“Momma, Georgie  _ ruined _ my dress!” thirteen-year-old Leo was sobbing, holding out her pretty white dress, which now had a huge, questionably-colored stain, running up the side of the skirt, and a rip in one of the sleeves.

“How did that even happen?” asked Val, the second youngest member of the family, hopping up and down next to Leo to see the mess of white fabric in her arms. JoJo caught her by the collar and dragged her away before Leo could turn on her, giving her a push into the living room, where Georgie was being scolded by their father, while Benny sat very still and quiet on the couch, hoping not to be noticed.

Francesca gasped when she saw the dress. “Oh, no!” she took it from Leo and held it out, letting the fabric fall out and showing the giant stain in its full glory. “What is this? Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She leaned into the living room. “Georgio Guiseppe de la Guerra! Go to your room!”

“But, Mom”— Georgie started to argue, but was silenced as both of his parents began yelling over each other. Resigned, he trudged off and up the stairs to the boys’ room on the second floor.

“Come, Leonora, we’ll see if we can find something else for you to wear,” Francesca said soothingly, putting an arm around the teenager’s shoulders and guiding her to the stairs. “Maybe we can make one of your sister’s dresses work.”

“I don’t want her wearin’ any of  _ my _ clothes!” Cami protested from the kitchen. “She always gets them messy when she borrows them.”

“If she needs somethin’ to wear, she can wear one of yours, Camilla!” Francesca called back.

“She’s too little to fit into any of my dresses anyways,” Cami said. “She doesn’t have boobs yet.”

Tommy giggled from where he was still tucked under JoJo’s arm. “Cami said ‘boob’.”

JoJo gave him a little shake, but had to hide a smile at the comment. Francesca shot the two of them a warning glance. “Jorgelino, go help Camilla and Samuel in the kitchen.”

“Sure, Momma,” JoJo sighed. He dropped Tommy onto the couch in the living room, next to Benny and Val and in the charge of their father, on his way to the kitchen, where Cami and Sal were working on dinner. “Momma sent me to help,” he said, holding out his hands.

“Oh, great,” Cami rolled her eyes. “Cause you’s gonna be  _ such _ a big help.”

JoJo glared at her. “Rude.”

“Deal with it.” She pointed at a cutting board full of half-chopped vegetables on the counter. “Cut those up. That’s what Momma was workin’ on. I’m sure you can manage it.”

JoJo stuck his tongue out, but got to work on the vegetables. The kitchen smelled good; Cami was frying flounder on top of the stove, and the sizzling oil and fish fillets both had their own unique scents that somehow screamed ‘Christmas’—since it was just about the only time of the year that they actually took the time to  _ fry _ fish for eating. There was a large cod baking in the oven as well, and a pan full of clams was steaming on the back of the stove. Sal was keeping an eye on a pot of boiling pasta next to the frying pan Cami was using for the fish, and another pot at the back of the stove had carrots on a low boil.

After a little while, Cami glanced over her shoulder at JoJo. “Okay, Jorgelino, that’s enough of those; can you chop the sardines and make the salad with them.”

JoJo glared at her. “Only if you don’t call me ‘Jorgelino’.”

“Aw, not even on Christmas?” Cami teased, setting her spatula aside while she lifted the carrots off the back of the stove and carried them to the sink to drain.

“No.”

“It could be your Christmas present to me.”

“I already got you a Christmas present.”

“Ooh, really? What is it?”

“It’s for Christmas. Which is tomorrow.”

Cami shrugged. “Well, it was worth a shot. Put those vegetables in here.”

JoJo scraped the broccoli, cauliflower, and green beans he’d been chopping into the carrot pot when she held it out. “Should those really be cooked all together?”

“It’ll be fine,” she said, filling the pot with water to cover the veggies. She set it on the stove and turned the burner back on, putting a lid halfway on top of the pot so the vegetables could steam. “Put those carrots in a bowl and put some butter on top to melt, and then you can put them in the drawer under the stove. And hurry, because Sal’s goin’ to have to drain his pasta soon.”

JoJo set his knife aside and did as he was told, grumbling internally at having to follow his bossy little sister’s orders, even though he knew she was better at cooking than he was. Almost as soon as he had the carrots out of the colander, Sal replaced them with the pasta, then filled the pasta pot with diced potatoes and water, and returned it to the stove. While JoJo returned to preparing the sardine salad—just chopped sardines mixed with mayonnaise, salt, pepper, and a bit of garlic—Sal gave the pasta the same treatment as the carrots: dumped into a bowl, pats of butter on top, then covered and tucked neatly into the warming drawer under the stove. When JoJo finished the salad and had put it in the fridge, he turned back around and opened his mouth to ask Cami what he should do next, but she’d beaten him to it:

“JoJo, there’s some baguettes in the pantry; you can grab three of them and slice them to eat with the sardines and clams.”

JoJo smiled to himself and went for the bread, only to have Cami call after him: “Make sure you wash the cuttin’ board and sardine knife before you do anythin’ else!”

Once the bread had been retrieved from the pantry and set safely on the counter, JoJo washed the cutting board, knives, and a handful of other utensils and dishes in the sink and set them aside to dry before getting out another cutting board, serrated knife, and plate for the bread once it was sliced. Cutting baguettes was always a messy task, and, despite his best efforts, the tabletop around JoJo and his cutting board was soon liberally littered with flakes of crust and breadcrumbs.

Over at the stove, Sal finished cooking the clams and added them to the rapidly-filling warming-drawer, then added another pot to the stove to boil calamari. Unprompted, JoJo went straight from slicing the bread to making dressing to dip it in: a simple infusion of olive oil and fresh thyme in a bowl, set aside to steep until it was time to eat. He could hear his father and the youngest siblings—still without Georgie, from the sound of it, or their mother and Leo—in the dining room, setting the table for dinner.

Benny stuck his head in the kitchen. “Anythin’ we can put on the table yet?”

“Already?” Cami asked. “You set it early.”

“Dad wanted to get it done,” Benny shrugged.

“Here, you can have the bread,” said JoJo. “And you can come back for the dressin’, but you have to be careful carryin’ it.

Benny rolled his eyes. “Sure,  _ Jorgelino _ .”

“Why is everyone callin’ me that tonight?” JoJo grumbled, passing the plate of bread to his younger brother, who waltzed off, grinning to himself. “Cami, is there anything else I should do?”

Cami lifted the lid off the pot of potatoes and stuck a fork into them. “These are done. You can drain them and add butter, parsley, salt, and pepper to them. Don’t  _ mash _ them, Momma don’t want mashed potatoes this year, she wants parsley potatoes.” She passed her hot pads to JoJo, who put them on and lifted up the big pot of potatoes. It was heavier than he expected—he had to wonder how Sal had managed to get it onto the stove in the first place—and dumping out the boiling water was a bit of a struggle, as he tried not to burn his arms on the hot pot. Only half of the potatoes could fit into the colander at once, so he had to dump half of the pot out carefully, transfer those potatoes to the largest serving bowl he could find, and drain the other half. Once they were all in the bowl, he set the pot in the sink, added two—sliced up and softened—sticks of butter to the bowl, and liberally sprinkled parsley, salt, and pepper over the potatoes before he started to mix it all together with a wooden spoon.

“How’s everythin’ comin’ in here?” Francesca bustled into the kitchen and poked around, looking over her children’s shoulders (with the exception of JoJo, who was notably taller than her, and whose shoulder she had to look around rather than over).

“Good, Momma,” Cami grinned proudly. “We put the calamari in a little late, so it ain’t done yet, but everythin’ else is goin’ well.”

“What should I do with these?” JoJo asked, hefting the huge bowl of parsley potatoes.

Francesca lifted the lid off of the calamari and poked the squid with a fork. “Hm… Warmin’ drawer?”

“It’s pretty much full already,” said Cami, stepping out of the way so Francesca could see for herself.

“Here, Sal, take the corn out to the table; it’s in a ceramic dish with a lid, so it should stay warm well enough,” Francesca passed the dish to Sal, who headed out into the dining room with it. She moved the other dishes around, and waved JoJo over with the big bowl of potatoes, which nestled perfectly in among the other food. “You can take the cold things out a while,” she said, pushing the drawer closed and standing up.

“Momma, did you find somethin’ for Leo to wear?” Cami asked.

“She’s wearin’ your white dress from when you were her age,” Francesca said. “I don’t want to hear anythin’ about it either; it doesn’t fit you any longer anyways.”

“Probably don’t fit her either,” Cami grumbled.

“No, I had to put it on her inside-out and pin it,” Francesca laughed. “She’s so small! At this rate, even Valeria will be bigger than her soon, and she’s almost half her age.”

Cami grinned. “She’s not wearin’ it to eat, I hope. Don’t want to have to hear about it if she stains  _ another _ one.”

“No, she’ll get dressed after dinner and walk to the cathedral early with your father.”

“Why does she have to have a  _ white _ dress anyways? The choir wears robes, so it’s not like anyone will see what they’re wearing.”

“You had to wear a white dress when you sang with the choir too, in case you’d forgotten,” said Francesca. “It’s just what the director wants, I suppose.”

“Momma!” Benny shouted from the other room, “Georgie wants to know if he can come downstairs yet!”

“Tell him he can come down when it’s time to eat!” Francesca yelled back.

Cami put the last of the fried flounder onto the paper towels she’d been drying them on, transferring some of the others to a hotplate she’d piled them on once dry. “JoJo, can you get the butter sauce out of the fridge and microwave it to heat it up?”

JoJo froze, halfway between carrying a plate of cold shrimp and the bowl of sardine salad to the table. “Um…”

“Finish that first, dummy,” Cami stuck her tongue out at him. He responded by making the same face in return.

“Camilla! Jorgelino! Enough!” Francesca scolded. “You’re the oldest; act like it!”

Sheepishly, JoJo finished his trip to the dining room, handing the food he was carrying off to Leo and Benny to set on the table before going back to the kitchen to heat up the butter sauce as requested. He pulled the bowl out of the fridge and arched an eyebrow as he looked down into it. “It’s already liquid.”

“You don’t need to make it a liquid, you need to make it  _ warm _ ,” Cami rolled her eyes. “Cover it and put it in for a few seconds, stir it, put it back in, stir it, until it’s decently hot, because it’ll cool down by the time we get to eat.”

It wasn’t long before the calamari had been drained and fried quickly in the leftover oil. JoJo, Sal, and Cami carried the hot dishes from the warming drawer out to the table and set them on trivets to protect the tablecloth and -top, each of them making two trips, Francesca following along after with the tray of baked cod.

“Everyone! Table!” she shouted, and the smaller children—and Lorenzo, their father—came hurrying in from the living room. Once all the dishes were on the table and everyone was in their seats, Lorenzo said a quick grace over their bowed heads, and then they all dug in with a fervor.

Meals in the de la Guerra were always… interesting. With a minimum of ten people at most meals—Francesca expected everyone home for dinner every night, with few exceptions, although they were always welcome to bring friends home with them, the most common addition to the table typically being Spot Conlon on his way home after rehearsals with JoJo—the food went fast, even with as much of it as there was on holidays. When seating themselves, each of the little children was placed next to at least one older child or parent, even ten-year-old Benny who was very insistent that he was fully capable of serving himself, despite the fact that he consistently managed to dump food on himself at least once through the course of the meal.

Tonight, JoJo found himself sat between Tommy and Georgie, the latter extremely cranky after spending the last two—or more—hours in his room. Tommy bounced on the seat set on top of his chair that let him see over the top of the table, kicking his legs excitedly as he stared wide-eyed at the feast crammed onto the tabletop. Georgie, on the other hand, crossed his arms and slouched back in his chair, scowling. It was just JoJo’s luck that Leo was sitting on Georgie’s other side, pointedly ignoring the boy, her tear-stained face staring at Cami and Val on the other side of the table. JoJo sighed to himself. “Okay, Tom-tom, what are we eatin’?”

“Corn!”

“You have to have somethin’ besides just  _ corn _ .”

“Potatoes!”

“Okay, what else? Do you want some of the fried fish?”

“Pasta!”

“Okay, you can have pasta, but you have to pick at least one fish to have some of too.”

“That,” said Tommy, pointing at the fried calamari in front of them.

“Okay, calamari, corn, potatoes, and pasta. Do you want some clams for your pasta?”

“Um… Two.”

“Two clams?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, two clams. Do you want some of the sauce too? Just a little? It’s really good.”

“Just a li’l.”

“Okay.”

Once Tommy’s plate was full, JoJo turned to Georgie. “Okay, buddy, what do you want to eat?”

“Nothin’.”

“Come on, Georgie, don’t be difficult.”

Georgie let out a loud sigh. “I don’t care. Just put somethin’ on my plate.”

JoJo arched an eyebrow, but shrugged. He started piling food on his own plate—a little bit of everything—and put at least a little of each dish onto Georgie’s plate, too. “Is that good?”

“Can I have more sardines?”

“Sure.” JoJo added another spoonful of the salad to Georgie’s plate. “Do you want bread for it?”

“Yeah.”

Dinner didn’t last long. It never did, in their house. Under an hour after setting the table, they were already clearing it, packing up what few leftovers remained and washing dishes. Leo and Lorenzo went upstairs to get changed for church; Leo had to be there early for a final choir rehearsal before the midnight service—which started at 11:30, not midnight, but was still called “Midnight Mass” for whatever reason—and Lorenzo would walk her, so she didn’t have to walk alone in the dark. Once they were gone, the rest of the family got ready at a more relaxed pace. They were off a little after eleven; even though it wasn’t a long walk to the church, Francesca wanted to make sure to get seats with a good view of the choir, to see Leo during her solo.

JoJo carried Tommy almost the entire way to the church. Even though he, Val, and Georgie had been forced to take a nap in the afternoon, all three of them were very cranky to still be awake for the late service. JoJo let the yawning Tommy ride on his back, which earned a great deal of criticism and whining from the other two, at least until Francesca scolded them into silence.

Once they were inside the church, Francesca, Cami, and the littles went into the nave to find seats. JoJo, Sal, and Benny stayed out in the narthex, Sal standing with their father, who was chatting with several of the other parish men, while Benny wandered off towards some other kids his age. JoJo stood near the door, still wearing his jacket, waiting. He grinned when he saw who he was waiting for: Spot Conlon trailed into the building after his father, aunt, uncle, and cousins, yawning and looking grumpy. He lightened up considerably to see JoJo and slipped away from his family to join the other boy.

“Mornin’,” JoJo teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“Not yet it ain’t,” Spot scowled. JoJo laughed and they settled back to lean against the wall and wait for Finch. “You goin’ to sit with your family?” Spot asked.

JoJo shrugged. “Maybe. My mom wants me to, ‘cause Leo’s singin’.”

“Oh, really? Good for her.”

JoJo nudged Spot with his elbow again, grinning. “You know, Cami would really like it if you came and sat with us. If you don’t want to sit with your family, that is.”

Spot growled somewhere low in his throat. “Stop tryin’ to set me up with your sister. It’s weird.”

JoJo laughed. They only waited a little bit longer before Finch and his family were tumbling through the door, chattering with one another. Finch hung back with JoJo and Spot as his family headed for the nave. “Please help me,” he sighed. “I’ve been stuck inside with my little sisters all day.”

“I win there, because I have twice as many siblings as you,” JoJo teased.

“No, I win,” said Spot, “because you have seven siblings. I have nine cousins. And they’re  _ all _ girls. I’ve hardly talked to anyone since the dance last night.”

“Whoever said Christmas should be spent with family should be shot,” JoJo laughed. “I’m about ready to strangle Cami and Georgie. Although, I guess two out of seven isn’t too bad.”

Finch peered into the nave. “We should get in. It’s fillin’ up.”

“Let’s sit in the back,” said Spot. “I don’t want to have to sit next to my cousins.”

They managed to find seats in the last row of pews, the last few stragglers to the service filling in around them. Through the service, they kept mostly quiet, occasionally muttering comments to one another and then having to suppress their snickers. The only part they were completely silent for was during Leo’s solo. She had a beautiful voice, and it was almost like the entire congregation held its breath as she sang, the sound filling the nave to the rafters as she sang the words of the traditional tune:

**“Ave Maria, gratia plena,**

**Dominus tecum,**

**benedicta tu in mulieribus,**

**et benedictus fructus ventris tui Jesus.**

**Sancta Maria, Mater Dei,**

**ora pro nobis peccatoribus,**

**nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.**

**Amen.”**

The mass was well over an hour long, and by the end of it, JoJo and Finch were both asleep on Spot’s shoulders. He kept having to elbow Finch in the side to keep the other boy from snoring, but even that only did so much. As the mass came to a close, Spot woke the other two up as quietly as he could. By the time everyone was standing to leave, they were on their feet, yawning and blinking sleepily. Finch slipped in with his family as they passed the boys’ pew, waving a silent goodbye to his friends as they vanished into the flow of people. Spot and JoJo slipped into the current as well, and waited for their families outside the church doors, yawning and watching frosty clouds float up from their mouths. Spot pulled out a pack of cigarettes, but immediately tucked them back into his pocket, rethinking his surroundings. Spot’s family came out first, his cousins chattering happily with one other, his father, aunt, and uncle trailing along behind the girls. Spot slipped in behind the adults as they walked past, offering a final wave to JoJo as he left.

JoJo’s family were some of the last people to leave the cathedral. Leo was tucked neatly between her mother and father, beaming brightly as Francesca gushed over her. JoJo waited until they were down the steps and on the sidewalk to join them, hoping that his parents wouldn’t notice him slipping in at the back of the family. No such luck. Francesca’s head whipped around and she glared at him. “Jorgelino Josephino! Where have you been?”

“Ooh, full-named on Christmas; that’s gotta be bad luck!” Sal snickered.

“Sorry, Momma,” JoJo said. “I was in the narthex talkin’ with Spot and Finch, and we didn’t realize how late it had gotten. We only went into the nave as the service was startin’, so we sat in the back so we wouldn’t disturb anyone tryin’ to find youse.”

Francesca’s eyes narrowed further, but she let the subject go, turning back to continue gushing over Leo. JoJo felt a tug on his pant leg and looked down to find Georgie trudging along beside him.

“JoJo, will you carry me?” he begged, looking up at his oldest brother with puppy dog eyes. Tommy was already on Cami’s back—and looked to have fallen asleep with his head on her shoulder—and Val was in their father’s arms. JoJo sighed, but smiled and nodded. He stopped and crouched down to let Georgie crawl onto his back, settling him into a better position as he stood up.

It was cold outside, but a clear night. The tufts of cloud that had filled the sky earlier like puffs of cotton stuffing were mostly gone, and only faint wisps floated past the stars twinkling overhead around the silver disc of the full moon, set in the black canopy like diamonds. A few flakes of snow fluttered down around them, and JoJo watched as Benny and Sal ran ahead, trying to catch the flurries with their tongues. Georgie yawned against the back of his shoulder and sagged further against JoJo’s back. JoJo smiled to himself and hefted Georgie up a little higher so it was more comfortable to carry him. Leo fell back from their parents to walk next to her oldest brother.

“You sounded great, Leo,” JoJo nudged her with an elbow.

“Thanks!” she beamed up at him. “Does that mean I can come sing with your band?”

“Not my call,” JoJo laughed. “But if it was, I’d totally let you.”

Leo laughed and scurried off to join Benny and Sal chasing snowflakes as the flurries began to fall more heavily. JoJo hoisted Georgie back up his back again, and smiled up at the twinkling stars, now more obscured by the clouds bringing the snow.  _ Now this feels like Christmas _ .


	4. Stille Nacht

**“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht…”**

Mush sat at the kitchen table, school books and homework sheets spread across the tabletop in front of him. He had made it his goal to get all of his homework finished before Christmas day so he didn’t have to worry about it after that. As night fell on Christmas Eve, however, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d make his deadline. Upon hearing a great deal of banging coming from the bedroom on the other side of the kitchen wall, he looked up, alarmed. His father had asked him to keep an eye on the food on the stove and in the oven before vanishing back into the bedroom without any further explanation. There was a final loud  _ crash _ , and Mush rose halfway to his feet, wondering if he should go check on his father. Before he could even get completely up, however, a large figure, any identifying feature completely obscured by a heavy coat made of dark furs, barrelled out from the hallway, charging straight towards him. Mush let out a shriek as the figure slammed into him, sending his chair flying into the nearest wall, and scooped him up into a massive, tight hug.

“Daedd!” Mush shouted, laughing and kicking his legs as his father lifted him up, backing away from the table. “Daedd, put me down!”

“Daedd?” Levi repeated. “Nee, ich bin naett ein daedd! Ich heesse Belsnickel!”

Mush groaned. “Belsnickel? Really? Daedd, I’m not five. I’m not afraid of a mythical old man who punishes kids for being bad.”

“Well, maybe you should be,” Levi said. By this point, he had hauled Mush back into the bedroom, and tossed him onto his bed. He stood in front of the bed, a truly menacing figure in the giant coat, and planted his hands on his hips. “Now! Nickolas Meyers!” He leaned down, half-leering, half-laughing, and got in Mush’s face, making the boy laugh. “Hawwe de gut schtehe?”

Mush rolled his eyes. “Yes. I’ve been good.”

Levi stood up and shrugged. “I have no argument. However! As you know, you must sing me a song in order to receive your gifts!”

Mush groaned and leaned back against the wall. “Come on, Daedd. It’s my day off. I don’t want to sing.”

“What, you? Not wanting to sing?” Levi reached out and put a hand on Mush’s forehead. “Hm… No fever. You feeling okay?”

Mush laughed and pushed his father’s hand away. “I’m fine. But I sang at the dance last night, and I don’t feel like it today. Can I interest you in a fact I learned in school instead? I seem to remember Belsnickel acceptin’ those as currency, too.”

“Fine,” Levi sighed.

It took Mush a moment of searching to come up with a suitable fact that Levi would accept, but, finally, his father stepped aside and let him crawl off of the bed and make his escape back to the kitchen. Mush was picking up the chair his father had sent flying when Levi joined him, sans fur coat and hat. “It’s hot in that thing,” Levi laughed. “I forgot how uncomfortable it is.”

“How did I make it out of my childhood without more traumatic memories of Belsnickel?” Mush mused aloud, hiding a grin. “I think you broke this chair.”

“What, really?” Levi demanded. He took the chair from Mush and glared down at a splintered rail in the back of it. “I can probably fix it. Just set it aside until I get to it.”

Mush laughed to himself, but set the chair aside and got to clearing his homework off of the table.

“Did you get finished?” Levi asked.

“Uh, mostly,” Mush shrugged. “I have a few math problems I’m having a hard time with. I’ll call JoJo for help after Christmas.”

Levi nodded. “Set the table when you’re done there.”

While Mush set the table, Levi pulled the assorted foods out of the oven and off the stove, transferring some to serving dishes, and leaving some in the dishes they’d been cooked in. It was simple fare: a hank of roasted pork, mashed potatoes, creamed corn, sauerkraut, rich potato bread—hard to find in New York, but purchased from a German bakery on the other side of the borough—and even some steamed green beans. For dessert, they would have their traditional schmierkees und lattwarrick—apple butter and cottage cheese—and, as a special treat this year, Levi had sprung for a stollen—sweet glazed bread with fruit in it—from the German bakery as well.

“The sauerkraut is good this year,” said Mush, folding a few spoonfuls of the fermented cabbage into his mashed potatoes.

“Yes, I’ll have to call your Graemmaemm and thank her for it,” said Levi. Every year, Mush’s mother’s mother—Levi’s mother-in-law—sent at least two jars of homemade sauerkraut to the two of them. One was to be eaten on Christmas, but the other, more importantly, was meant to be eaten on New Year’s Eve, for good luck in the new year. It was virtually the only contact they had with his mother’s family, as the relationship between them and Levi and Mush had grown… complicated after Mercy’s death, when Mush was three.

They didn’t talk much as they ate. The two of them had never been particularly chatty, and even the attempts to mend their relationship over the past two months hadn’t changed that. However, something Levi  _ had  _ noticed over the past few months was that it was significantly easier to get his son talking about something besides himself, the best topics for a long conversation being, unsurprisingly, his music and friends, or, to an even greater extent, Finch and Elaine. He viewed it as a sort of accomplishment, at this point, to be able to keep Mush talking for more than a few minutes. Additionally, for purely selfish reasons, he enjoyed the soft smiles that would creep across his son’s face and shine behind his eyes when he talked about his partners.

After dinner, they packed away the leftovers, piled the dishes in the sink, and left them for the morning. The Christmas tree and putz—handmade nativity scene—were set up in a corner of the apartment’s main room, next to a pair of overstuffed, worn-out armchairs. Levi directed Mush to sit in one of them and dashed back to the bedroom, returning with a small basket of gifts, another larger package tucked under his arm. By the time he took a seat on the other chair, Mush had also produced a trio of small packages from under the tree.

“You spent too much money,” Mush scolded as they traded gifts. “I didn’t need anythin’ anyways.”

“You don’t know how much I spent,” Levi retorted. “Anyways, I’m trying to make up for quite a few years of pretty horrible Christmasses—not to mention birthdays and every other holiday. Plus, when you’re not spending half your income on drinking, you’ll find that you have plenty to spend on spoiling your kid.”

Mush flushed and looked down at the basket on his lap. “I hope you’s savin’ at least  _ some _ of it, too.”

“Don’t worry, I am,” Levi laughed. “Go ahead. Open them.”

“You too,” Mush quipped, already tearing into the wrapping paper. Levi set his own gifts aside and watched his son’s face eagerly as he opened his presents. There were new notebooks—not lined but printed with musical bars—and a pack of number two pencils with a good sharpener, wool socks, a pack of heavy undershirts of the remaining winter months, and three bars of German chocolate. The larger package was saved for last, and Levi could hardly keep the grin off his face as Mush opened it.

“You needed a new coat,” he said, as Mush pulled the bundle of thick fabric out of the torn paper. It was heavy grey wool, plain but high quality with soft black lining.

“You spent too much,” Mush scolded, running his hand over the front of the coat. “And there’s nothin’ wrong with my old coat.”

“Not so much as you might think,” Levi shrugged. “And ‘nothing wrong’? It’s worn out at the cuffs, elbows, hem, and collar, and there’s a rip in one of the underarms—I noticed when you picked up your school bag one morning. Plus, it’s had a weird smell to it for the past month.”

Mush winced, thinking back to the storm that was responsible for that odd smell, and the events that had followed it.

“Anyways, the old one was getting too small, at least over the shoulders and in the arms,” Levi continued. “I’m surprised you could still button it up.”

Mush shrugged. “It didn’t really seem too small.”

“Well, you should get quite a few good years out of this one,” said Levi. “Don’t go fighting anyone in it, or anything like that. Keep the old one around for if you’re planning any trouble.” He winked, and Mush laughed.

“Open yours,” said Mush, setting the coat aside.

Levi smiled and did as he was told. The first package was a new bath towel—which he was secretly very grateful for, as his was getting extremely ratty, having been bought by Mercy when they moved to New York City, before Mush was even born. The second was a knit hat and pair of mittens, done in a lovely deep green tweed, flecked with black and dark brown.

“Elaine made those,” said Mush. “She gave them to me to give to you, but they’re technically from her.”

Levi put on the hat and pulled on one of the mittens. “I’ll be sure to thank her tomorrow,” he said, pulling the mitten off and setting it aside.

The last package was the most perplexing. It was hard and rigid, and felt cool to the touch under the wrapping—almost metallic. Levi opened it slowly, unsure of what to expect, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw what was inside. A beautiful silver frame made of intricate scrollwork, much of which looked to be floral motifs, surrounded a faded color photograph of three people. On the right, a younger Levi stood smiling brightly at the camera, dressed in a suit that would no longer have fit him if he still had it. There was no grey in his hair, no sorrow in his eyes. Beside him stood Mercy, a beautiful young woman with soft, wavy brown hair and clear brown eyes, two features shared by the toddler in her arms. Mush was barely two years old in the photo, but he was smiling brightly, reaching out towards the camera, rosy-cheeked and bright-eyed. It wasn’t a large photo, but Levi had thought it lost for years. He’d assumed that he’d thrown it out in sorrow or rage after Mercy’s death, and had even lamented its loss. He had to remind himself to take a breath and looked away from the picture, up at his son, tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. “Where did you get this?”

“I’ve had it,” said Mush quietly. “I hid a few of her things away a long time ago. I was afraid you’d throw them out. You used to get so angry about her bein’ gone, and you’d throw things away, and I just… I didn’t want to lose everythin’ of her. Sorry.”

“No,” Levi shook his head, laughing a little. “Thank you. I’m glad you did. I never thought I’d see this picture again.”

**“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht**

**Alles schläft; einsam wacht**

**Nur das traute hochheilige Paar.**

**Holder Knabe im lockigen Haar,**

**Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!**

**Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!”**

Later that night, after they’d both gone to bed, Levi lay staring up at the ceiling. He’d promised to hang the photo in the main room, somewhere they could both see it, but for now it rested on his bedside table. He kept stealing glances at it, almost afraid that it would vanish, just as Mercy seemed to have when she got sick, wasting away before his eyes. He wondered how much Mush remembered of his mother. Did he only remember the gaunt husk that was all that remained of her after her death? Or did he remember the woman in the photograph: pink cheeks, always smiling, full of love and life and laughter. As he lay in the dark, he began to notice a soft voice coming from the other side of the room, singing quietly:

**“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,**

**Hirten erst kundgemacht**

**Durch der Engel Halleluja,**

**Tönt es laut von fern und nah:**

**Christ, der Retter ist da!**

**Christ, der Retter ist da!”**

As quietly as possible, Levi rolled over and padded to the quilts that hung through the center of the room. He pulled one aside and peered through the gap that it made.

Mush was seated on the windowsill, one leg propped against the opposite side of the window, the other swinging idly against the wall. He held something in his hands—another photograph, if Levi had to hazard a guess—and smiled fondly down at it before leaning his head back against the wall. A single tear tracked its way down his cheek, sparkling silver in the moonlight, but his smile never faltered as he continued singing to himself, half-whispering the German lyrics of his mother’s favorite Christmas hymn. Levi took a step back, and returned to his bed.  _ I guess that answers that question _ .

**“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht,**

**Gottes Sohn, o wie lacht**

**Lieb’ aus deinem göttlichen Mund,**

**Da uns schlägt die rettende Stund’.**

**Christ, in deiner Geburt!**

**Christ, in deiner Geburt!”**


	5. Christmas in Killarney

Spot groaned and rolled over, pulling his pillow around his head to block out the noise coming from below him.  _ It’s too early for this _ , he chanted over and over in his head. His attic bedroom was cold in the early winter morning, and he didn’t have the energy to both get out of bed and handle all of his cousins. Although, from the sound of little feet on the steps, he wasn’t likely to have much of a choice. The door to the stairwell creaked open.

“Sean?” came a little voice.

He sighed and popped his head up.  _ A dirty trick. They know I can’t say ‘no’ to the little ones _ . “What, Alva?”

“Mam says it’s time to come down. Your da’s here.”

“Okay, Alva. Thanks.”

The door closed, and he heard her thumping down the stairs. All of the youngest girls were convinced that the attic was haunted, and while they were willing to be in it when he was around, they still didn’t  _ like _ it, and generally made as quick of an escape as possible. Reluctantly, he dragged himself out from under the warmth of his heavy blankets and got dressed as fast as he could before heading downstairs. Once he reached the main floor, he was virtually smacked in the face by a wall of muggy warmth, accompanied by the smell of cooking food and the chattering of his uncle, father, and youngest cousins. He was greeted almost immediately by Imogen, his youngest cousin, who ran across the living room to throw herself into his arms. He laughed and caught her under the arms, lifting her up off the floor and tossing her up into the air, settling her on his hip after he caught her again. She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging tightly to him.

“Mornin’, Sean,” his father called from across the room, lifting his coffee mug almost in a toast in Spot’s direction.

“Mornin’,” said Spot.

His uncle Finn and father, Ciaran, were seated nearest the fire, smoking wooden pipes and drinking their coffee, and, if past years were any indication, they would most likely spend the majority of the day doing so, unless Aunt Eabha threw them outside to smoke. Most of the girls were scattered around the room: Alva and Eimear—the second and third youngest—were playing with their dolls on the floor, while Noreen and Riona played cards and Aoife sketched the others from the windowsill. He guessed Katelyn, Niamh, and Fiadh were in the kitchen with their mother, and set Imogen down with Alva and Eimear on his way to join them.

Katelyn and Fiadh were singing when he walked in:

**“The holly green, the ivy green:**

**The prettiest picture you've ever seen;**

**It’s Christmas in Killarney,**

**With all of the folks at home!”**

“Mornin’, Auntie,” Spot murmured, stopping to kiss Eabha on the cheek as he passed her. He snatched a roll off of a plate next to her and dodged the half-hearted slap aimed at his hand after, dancing away towards Fiadh and singing the next verse of the song along with Katelyn and Niamh:

**“It’s nice, you know, to kiss your beau**

**While cuddling under the mistletoe,**

**And Santa Claus you know, of course,**

**Is one of the boys from home!”**

“Ew, kissin’,” Fiadh wrinkled up her nose. Spot laughed and picked her up under one arm, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Gross!” she squealed, flailing wildly to try and land a solid smack or kick on him. “Sean! Put me down!”

Both of them laughing, Spot set her down and stood still just long enough to let her whack him on the arm before hurrying away towards Katelyn and Niamh, using them as a buffer between him and Fiadh. “Youse need any help with anythin’?” he asked, flashing them a winning grin.

Katelyn rolled her eyes and bopped him on the head with a wooden spoon. “Get out before you break somethin’,” she scolded.

“We’ll let you know if we need you,” Eabha said. “Spend some time with your father.”

Spot rolled his eyes and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I’d rather not,” he muttered.

“Tell them to go outside with the pipes!” Eabha called after him.

“Aunt Eabha says to go outside to smoke,” Spot called into the living room as he passed. He set his coffee down just long enough to pull on his jacket and make sure that his lighter and cigarettes were in the pocket. He leaned against the front of the house. He set the coffee mug on a windowsill next to him, pulled out his cigarettes, and lit one— _ The last one? Great. _ —as his father and uncle stepped out of the house with their own mugs and pipes.

“You got a light, kid?” his father asked. Spot held out the lighter, keeping his distance and trying not to let his face twist into a scowl. If it did, he’d hear about it. He downed the rest of his coffee—there was more than he’d realized in the mug and he wound up chugging it—and set the mug back on the windowsill. “I’m walkin’ to the corner store for smokes, if anyone needs anythin’.”

“Get some milk for your aunt,” said Finn. “She always runs out when she’s cookin’ and bakin’.”

“Sure,” said Spot. He walked around them and opened the door to set the mug inside, then stuck his hands in his pockets and headed off.

**“The holly green, the ivy green,**

**The prettiest picture you’ve ever seen…”**

Dinner was lively; that was inevitable that it would be, with thirteen people packed into a room that was a little too small for all of them and the two tables they occupied. Spot sat with his four youngest cousins at the smaller table—a choice, on his part, because he insisted that he preferred their company over the others’. True enough, Imogen, Alva, Eimear, and Fiadh were fun to be around. They still had a child’s perspective, particularly Imogen and Alva, who were the two youngest, and they were all impossibly clever and very funny, but Spot really just used it as an excuse to avoid his father. So he shared a mince pie with Imogen, who insisted she didn’t want a whole one to herself, and helped Alva cut her ham, and told Eimear that, yes, in fact, she did  _ have _ to eat her helping of brussels sprouts, and scolded Fiadh when she tried to sneak  _ extra _ vegetables onto Eimear’s plate while she wasn’t looking.

After dinner, anyone who hadn’t helped cook—so Spot was excused, because he’d been enlisted when he got back from the corner store—was tasked with cleaning up and washing dishes, while the others relaxed in the living room. Spot excused himself and slipped outside for another smoke, Aoife trailing after him. He offered her a cigarette, which she accepted, and they stood outside together, staring up at the soft clouds still floating across the dark sky, hiding the stars doing their best to twinkle behind them.

“How’s it goin’?” Aoife teased gently. “You ain’t looked at your da all day from where I’s standin’.”

“Yeah, well,” Spot grumbled, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette, “I ain’t got nothin’ to say to him. If I look at him, he’s probably goin’ to start talkin’ at me, and I don’t feel like dealin’ with that.”

Aoife shrugged and leaned back against the wall, blowing smoke upwards. They were lit by nearby streetlamps and the candle burning in the window behind them. Eabha put candles in all the first-floor windows, an old tradition to welcome Mary and Joseph or any other wanderer into the home if they were in need. When they went to bed, the candles would be carried upstairs with them, but left burning in the windows all night (or until they went out, at least). Spot leaned against the bricks behind him and shivered, then yawned. Even with the coffee he’d been drinking most of the day, he was tired, and considered taking a nap before they left for midnight mass.  _ I wonder if I’ll be able to find JoJo and Finch… _ he wondered idly. He could use a break from his family; maybe he could convince the other boys to sit in the back of the church with him. He and JoJo generally did that on Sunday mornings—sometimes joined by Cami and Sal, or any number of Spot’s cousins—but Finch’s family usually attended a smaller church closer to their home. He wasn’t even entirely sure they’d be at the cathedral tonight, but since they usually came for special services, he expected they would be.

Once they were done, he and Aoife went back inside to a cacophony of shouting and laughter. Aoife rejoined the family in the living room, trying to figure out what was going on so she could join in, but Spot opted to slip into the kitchen for another cup of coffee, which he drank quickly, then head upstairs for a nap. 

“Sean!” his uncle called after him when he was halfway up the first flight of stairs. He froze and turned around guiltily. “Where ya goin’, lad?”

He couldn’t tell if his uncle was annoyed, angry, or just curious. “I’m goin’ to lie down before church,” he said. “Wake me up when it’s time to go?”

“Sure,” Finn nodded before wandering towards the kitchen.

**“The door is always open,**

**The neighbors pay a call,**

**And Father John, before he's gone,**

**Will bless the house and all!”**

By eleven o’clock, Spot was back up and dressed for church, and joined the rest of his family—all of whom had also spruced themselves up for the occasion—downstairs to walk to the cathedral. He trailed along behind the others as they walked, Fiadh bouncing along by his side and filling him in on everything he’d missed while he was asleep. She insisted on holding his hand and half-dragged him to keep up with the rest of the family as he trudged along. Closer to the church, she ran off after spotting a friend in the distance, and Spot was finally allowed a few moments of relative quiet.

Inside the narthex, he saw JoJo and waved his elbow at the other boy, unwilling to take his hands out of the warmth of his pockets. He yawned as he ducked away from his family, still sleepy even after all the coffee and his nap. They waited for Finch, who tumbled through the door with his parents and sisters shortly before the service was due to begin.

The other boys were easily persuaded to join Spot at the back of the church, and they all settled into the last pew in the nave as mass began. Quite suddenly—and probably fortunately—Spot was very abruptly wide awake. For the first half hour or so, JoJo and Finch were awake too, and they all swapped sarcastic comments, jokes, and quips under their breath, sniggering quietly and snapping to attention when someone nearby turned to glare at or shush them.

JoJo was the first one to fall asleep, shortly after his sister Leo’s choir solo. He spent a few minutes nodding off, then abruptly slumped over, his head landing solidly on Spot’s shoulder. Finch didn’t last much longer, but drifted off more slowly. He slumped further and further down in the pew, his chin dropping towards his chest, until finally his head bobbed down and stayed there. When he began snoring, Spot elbowed him sharply in the side, but that only woke him up briefly. The next time he fell asleep, it was with his head on Spot’s other shoulder, mirroring JoJo. Spot glared off into the distance.  _ Why am I the only one who has to be awake? _ he grumbled to himself.  _ It’s because you took a nap, that’s why _ .

As mass drew to a close, Spot was tempted to move and let the other boys fall, but resisted the urge. Instead, he dug his elbow into JoJo’s ribs, waking the taller boy up easily—Finch was clearly the deeper sleeper of the two. JoJo yawned and leaned forward to stretch his back, rolling his head to get out kinks in his neck. He looked over and grinned to see Finch still asleep. Spot tried digging an elbow into Finch’s side, but Finch barely twitched at that. JoJo’s grin broadened, and he reached out with one finger to poke the tip of Finch’s nose. Soon enough, JoJo and Spot were smothering giggles as they both poked and nudged and elbowed Finch, just trying to get him to wake up. When the service moved into its final segment, Spot finally gave up trying to be nice and aimed a hearty kick at Finch’s ankle. His foot made contact, and Finch jerked upright, eyes wide and breathing rapidly. He turned to glare at Spot.

“That hurt,” he hissed as they stood.

“Well, maybe try not fallin’ asleep,” Spot retorted.

Finch was the first to slip away after catching a glimpse of his family in the stream of people flowing out of the nave. JoJo and Spot opted not to wait for their own, but slipped into a gap in the current and made their way outside to wait. Before he pulled on his mittens, Spot considered lighting another cigarette, but opted against it, not wanting to be scolded by anyone for smoking in front of a church.

When he saw the first of his cousins leave the church, he sighed to himself.

“Merry Christmas,” JoJo laughed.

“Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” Spot grumbled.

JoJo laughed again and shook his head as Spot fell in behind his cousins, walking next to Niamh this time. “Did you enjoy the service?” she murmured snarkily.

“It was great. Leo sounded awesome.”

“Leo?”

“Leo de la Guerra. The girl who sang ‘Ave Maria’. She’s uh… Fiadh’s age, I think. That was her brother JoJo I was talkin’ to.”

“Oh, yeah. She was good. Did you fall asleep?”

“No, but both my friends did.”

Niamh laughed at that.

“Mam, can we open presents at home?” Imogen’s voice carried back to them from where she was walking between her parents. “It’s Christmas now!”

“We’ll see, a stór,” Eabha chuckled. “Let’s get home first, and then we’ll decide.”

**“How grand it feels to click your heels,**

**And join in the fun of the jigs and reels—**

**I'm handing you no blarney,**

**The likes you've never known;**

**It’s Christmas in Killarney,**

**With all of the folks at home!”**

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any characters or anything else you may recognize from any of the Newsies medias. I do not own the lyrics of the songs used in these stories. I do, however, own the individual stories, OCs, and anything else you don’t recognize from the source materials.


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